Mrs. Jeffries Appeals the Verdict Emily Brightwell (great books for teens TXT) 📖

me that Inspector

Nivens is going to a great deal of trouble to try and scare us

off. It makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

“How dare you.” Nivens glared at the Constable. “Just

what are you implying?”

“I’m sure the constable wasn’t implying anything untoward,” Witherspoon said hastily. Confused, he looked at his constable and then back at Nivens. “Er, uh . . .”

Barnes knew he was playing a dangerous game. It could

all blow up in his face and if things went horribly wrong,

and he could end up spending his last few years on the force

making the rounds in Whitechapel or Brixton. On the other

hand, if he played his cards right, he might just be able to

actually pull the inspector onto the case. Nivens might have

just made a really bad mistake.

“I was only curious, sir,” he said to Witherspoon. “I

mean, even if we were looking for the Odell case file, why

should Inspector Nivens get so het up? You never get upset

when other policemen look at your cases, sir.”

“Well, uh . . .” Witherspoon wasn’t quite sure what to

say. The constable had a point. He always had to track his

old case files down from someone’s desk, but he’d been

flattered that his fellow officers were interested in his

methods. Still, he didn’t wish to aggravate Inspector Nivens

needlessly—but it was odd that the man was so upset about

the matter. Very odd indeed. “Perhaps uh . . .”

“This is outrageous. Are you accusing me of having

something to hide?” Nivens cried, but his tone was now

slightly defensive. “I’ll have you know there was nothing

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wrong with my handling of that case, nothing at all. It was

good detective work on my part.”

“I’m sure it was, Inspector,” Witherspoon said calmly,

but his tone was slightly less mollifying than before.

“And you got a quick conviction,” Barnes goaded. He’d

heard the new note in his inspector’s voice. He also knew

that by virtue of Witherspoon’s past successes, if he took the

matter to the chief inspector, they’d have to listen to him.

Nivens glared at the constable and then turned his attention back to Witherspoon. “I’m warning you. Stay out of this case. Let me make this perfectly clear: if I hear

you’ve been interfering in this matter, there will be dire

consequences.”

Witherspoon said nothing. He simply stared at Nivens.

“Well, I’m glad that you understand.” Nivens dropped

his gaze and began backing toward the door. “There’s no

reason we can’t be civil about this matter. After all, I don’t

go snooping about in your cases.”

Barnes snorted faintly, but Nivens didn’t notice. His attention was on the inspector, who still hadn’t said a word.

“I’m glad we were able to get this issue resolved,” Nivens

muttered as he reached the door. He turned on his heel and

left.

For a long moment, the inspector said nothing, and

Barnes was sure he’d pushed too hard.

“Constable, I do believe you and I ought to have a word

with the chief inspector.”

“Are you going to complain about Inspector Nivens,

sir?” Barnes wasn’t sure that was the best idea. Perhaps it

would be better to wait until they had evidence of some

sort before they went to the chief. Nivens was an incompetent fool, but he was a fool with good political connections.

“Complaining about Nivens wouldn’t do the least bit of

good. He’s too well protected.”

Amazed, Barnes stared at Witherspoon. Maybe the inspector wasn’t quite as naïve as he’d thought. “Then why do you want to see the chief inspector, sir?”

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Emily Brightwell

“I want his permission to have a look at the Odell case.

I’ve a feeling that something is terribly wrong about the

matter. What’s more, Nivens knows there’s something

wrong but he was so desperate for a conviction on his books

that he overlooked it. We can’t have that, Barnes. We must

be sure. A man’s life is at stake.”

Just across the river, Mrs. Jeffries hurried down a corridor

at St. Thomas’s Hospital. As she came around the corner,

her quarry stepped out of a door and into view. He spotted

Mrs. Jeffries and a wide smile spread across his bony face.

He was a tall man with dark red hair, pale skin, and deep-

set hazel eyes. “Good morning, Mrs. Jeffries. I had a feeling you’d be along soon. I’m just on my way to my office.

Would you care to join me? I expect we could get a cup of

tea along the way somewhere.”

“Thank you, that would be lovely,” she replied as she

fell into step with him. She really didn’t want anything to

drink, but it felt churlish to refuse.

They stopped at the nursing station and he got both of

them a hot mug of tea and told the nursing sister he’d be in

his office.

“Come along, then. I’ve changed offices since you were

last here,” he explained as he led her down a short flight of

stairs and along the corridor. “This one actually has a window.” He opened the door and nodded for her to step inside.

Mrs. Jeffries couldn’t see that this office was much of an

improvement over his old one, but she kept that opinion to

herself. Despite the pale light seeping in through the narrow

window, the room was small and rather dim. The air was

filled with the scent of dampness mingled with soap and disinfectant. The room was as cluttered as she remembered—

with books, medical magazines, and papers covering every

inch of the desktop and most of the shelves along the wall.

Dr. Bosworth put his cup on the edge of his desk and

picked up the pile of books that had been sitting on the chair

opposite his desk. “Do have a seat, please.”

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85

“Thank you,” she said, sitting down. On the cabinet behind his desk, she could see a glass jar with a grayish pear-shaped object in it. It appeared to be suspended in some

sort of liquid. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what it

might be. She forced herself to look away.

Bosworth took his seat. “I had a chance to read the postmortem report,” he began.

“Was the report detailed enough to give you any idea of

the kind of gun that was used to murder Mrs. Muran?” Her

gaze flicked back to the object in the glass jar.

“Based on the details in the report, my guess is